


Forks in the Road ~ The game we play

by Nina36



Series: Forks in the road [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, happy ending of sort, not exactly historically accurate because of reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36
Summary: Forks in the road. In another universe, she leaves, too inebriated to truly feel ashamed, even though his rejection, it does not matter how gentle stings, but in another, one where he waits for a heartbeat too much and it takes her a moment longer to utter those words, she does not leave.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I completely suck at maths, it’s something that totally escapes me, but, at the same time, I love physics always did, I love reading articles about Quantum physics and mechanics, I have always been fascinated with the idea of alternate universes and parallel realities, which is one of the reasons I love "The Man in the High Castle" so much (I was to do a Ph.D in English Lit about dystopian literature) and being the nerd that I am, I pretty much had a nerdgasm reading about Hugh Everett’s Many Worlds Theory. According to Everett any action that has more than one possible result produces a split in the universe. Thus, there are an infinite number of parallel universes and infinite copies of each person. It is more than the so-called Butterfly Effect, another theory that I also love, so imagine me watching Victoria, imagine me shipping Vicbourne with the burning intensity of a thousand suns, imagine me mulling over Everett’s theory and – this is what I came up with.  
> This is part of a series, there will be three more stories, I think.

 

**I.**

_It is the first time he fully realises that she is not just the Queen or the girl he met the day she became such, the one who kept dolls in her bedchamber but did not name them. It is the first time he realises she is a woman and he remembers, after so long, that he does still have a heart when it beats in his chest too fast for a moment._

_She looks at him and she is clearly inebriated, she has had too much champagne and he knows because he remembers, suddenly, what it is like to be young, that she feels alive._

_It is the first time he realises that the easy companionship they have had since the beginning, the way spending so much time together every day and still feeling like it is not enough when they part, is –_ might _be dangerous._

_Forks in the road. He has made mistakes in his life and people he cared about, people he loved have paid a dear price for his foolishness, for his carelessness. They are too close, now, she wants to dance – and he very much doubts that she truly is aware of what she wants, deep down, she is too young and inexperienced to recognize the signs, but he does._

_The honorable, the right, sensible thing to do is to send her away, to gently let her down, to let the moment fraught with tension shatter on its own. She is young, she is the Queen – he is old, he is her prime minister._

_He sends her away. He gently lets her down._

_“Not tonight, ma’am.” He says, and it is harder than he thought it would be to utter those words._

_Forks in the road. In another universe, she leaves, too inebriated to truly feel ashamed, even though his rejection, it does not matter how gentle stings, but in another, one where he waited for a heartbeat too much and it takes her a moment longer to utter those words, she does not leave._

 

* * *

 

“Please.” She says.

He is lost. He cannot deny her anything, but they cannot go back to the room, where everyone has watched the queen leave, unsteady on her feet.

She giggles. It’s a sweet sound, and she is not the Queen, she is a girl who loves life, who is the very essence of vitality and frankness. She takes his hand and says, “My dear Lord M, follow me!”

He does. No one sees them as they walk down hallways and end up on a terrace, completely dark and far from where everyone else is. It is a cold night and – he had been lost in his own grief that evening, he had been thinking about his wife, how he had failed her, about how beautiful his baby girl had been, how she had breathed, she had cried and wrapped her weak tiny fingers around his index before she had stopped breathing.

He had thought about Augustus, his beloved boy – but he had also thought about Mrs. Norton and how their platonic friendship, however laced with romantic undertones, had been her downfall.

And here he is, hours later, holding in his arms the most powerful woman on Earth, possibly committing treason, and he can only lead her to music neither of them can really hear, and he does not think he has ever felt that happy, that content for a very long time.

He is too much his mother’s son to take advantage of her in her inebriated state, and he cares deeply, too much, for her, to even think about doing more than gently resting his hand on her waist as they dance and smile with her. It is completely inappropriate, it is far from innocent, but he still protects her the best he can, even if it means protecting her from himself.  

No one finds them, no one discovers them as they dance, which will later make him wonder if fate, in which he does not truly believe for he does not believe in much, intervenes, he only meets Emma once he has safely escorted the Queen to her chambers.

Emma looks at him and she knows. They have known each other for far too long. She cocks an eyebrow questioningly at him and he pretends not to notice, he pretends he does not feel ten or even twenty years younger. He pretends he is not _happy_.

He fails spectacularly, at least with Emma.

She knows him, she knows his nature, but that does not stop her from whispering, when they are alone, “Be careful, William – people can be very cruel, you, more than anyone, should know that.”

He looks at her and wants to say that all they have done is dance, that no words or actions that could endanger the Queen were uttered, but he knows that it would be a lie: they have not just danced, it was too dark and intimate and he fears that the queen will very much regret both her actions and his conduct when she wakes up.

Emma seems to read his thoughts because she lets out a soft chuckle and says, “Oh, William – you should have more faith in our queen.”

He blinks his eyes. Doesn’t Emma know that the Queen is the only thing he puts his faith in?

 

* * *

 

People talk, after the ball, but it can do nothing to stop what is happening, the closeness of two people different in age and temperament but that somehow click perfectly together. They grow closer and closer, to the point where he truly cannot imagine or remember ever living without her. And he hopes he never has to find out.

The Queen is headstrong, she asks him questions, masking them behind hypothetical situations. She reads a lot about former monarchs and the constitution, she only asks him one thing, once, during their daily rides; “Lord M.” she says, and he realises that they way she says his name sounds like a caress, it sounds too intimate.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replies.

“Hypothetically speaking, if one prime minister should retire from politics, how much do you think it would matter if he were to marry the Queen?”

She speaks her words softly, without truly looking at him, but he feels her, he feels how much she wants to. They have had similar conversations ever since he resumed his position as Prime Minister.

“I fear, ma’am, that the crown would face an almost unprecedented scandal. It would be not worth –“ He trails but she does not let him finish, her voice is almost sharp when she says, “Hypothetically speaking, I think the prime minister should let the Queen decide what is worth and what it isn’t to her. The crown has weathered worse scandals, I think.”

“They would ask for a morganatic wedding, ma’am. The hypothetical offsprings of such a marriage would have no claim to the throne, there would be no legacy for an otherwise exceptional monarch.” He says.

It is the truth. It is painful, as only truths can be. And yet – he imagines having children with her, having a second chance at being a father, having a second chance at being a husband. A good, devoted husband.

She cocks an eyebrow and looks at him before saying, “I am sure, Lord Melbourne that, hypothetically speaking, the prime minister and the Queen might find a way to avoid that happen – if he were so inclined.”

No one can hear them, not that it has stopped gossip from spreading at the Palace and in London: they call the Queen Mrs. Melbourne and when it happens he has to squelch the almost primeval pride he feels at the prospect, and he has seen her turn up her lips in a smile at the mention of that particular gossip.

She has not proposed, not really, she is playing a game and he does the same.

“Hypothetically speaking, the prime minister should have to remind the Queen that he is an old man, that one day she might regret her choice and come to resent him, that her moral standards are so high that she would never seek solace elsewhere, thus condemning herself to a lifetime of unhappiness. It would also be the prime minister’s responsibility to remind the Queen of the duty she has to her subjects and her country.”

“ _My_ –“ It is impossible not to notice the slip of her tongue, but she recovers quickly and continues, “the queen’s subjects cannot dictate whom she chooses to spend her life with, Lord M. As for the prime minister, he should perhaps, hypothetically speaking, trust the Queen’s heart.”

There is a pause, a long moment they spend riding in silence, clouds assembling in the sky, preparing for a storm, and he almost does not hear her when she asks in a low voice, “Do you really think so little of me, Lord M?”

Caro had loved him, at the beginning, even though he had been blind to her shortcomings, and he had seen how passion had destroyed her mind. He had failed his wife and he could not let another – another woman he loves to pay for his folly, for his blindness and inadequacy.

“Ma’am,” He starts, “you are so very young…”

“I’m tempted to send you straight to the Tower right now, Lord M!” She says, and she is smiling, she is  joking, yet her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“I would endure it if it brought you happiness in the end.” He says. It is the most honest he has been with her since they have started that particular, dangerous game. He is not avoiding the subject, even if common sense and duty would require him to do so. She deserves (the world, everything under the sun and more) his honesty.  

“I am aware of my age, Lord M. – but I can promise you one thing here, as Queen and as a woman – I am not fickle. I am not …” She trails and he can see she has to swallow and blink her eyes not to cry. He also sees, understand in that mysterious way that has become normal between them, that she had meant to say his wife’s name, she had meant to be hurtful for a moment – he sees it clearly in the way she had flared her nostrils and had hold too tight  the horse’s reins, but – she could not bring herself to do so.

 And he falls a little more in love with her.

“No, ma’am, you most definitely are not. Hypothetically speaking, the prime minister would gladly resign and endure any storm – but he would always think he is not enough for her, he would always fear that she would regret her choice in time.” He says.

It feels like admitting defeat, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders, it feels like the end and the beginning at the same time.

It probably is.

“Therefore, it would be the Queen’s privilege to disabuse her husband of that notion.” She says and she smiles at him and it is a real smile, one that makes him feel blessed and close to tears all of sudden.  

“You are aware, your majesty, that there are certain factions that would try and use such a hypothetical companionship to their advantage.” He says. He speaks those words because it is his duty, and that is something that will never change, not as long as he breathes.

Her smile is bright when she says, “You have never underestimated me, Lord M. Do not start now, please!”

 

* * *

 

 When she became Queen she had been inexperienced, he remembers the long hours spent in her study as he taught her the mechanics of politics. She had been a fast learner – she was born to be Queen.

He notices in amazement as she removes all the obstacles on her way. She still has not officially proposed, even if she sometimes calls him William when they are alone and rolls her eyes when he cannot bring himself to call her Victoria, despite her permission to do so.

The first to go is Sir John Conroy: she gives him everything he wants and more and the relief she can see in her eyes and her small frame when the man leaves is tangible.

When the Duchess of Kent appeals to him to intercede with the Queen on her behalf, William goes against his very nature, which imposes not to create ripple effects, not to intervene unless it is absolutely necessary, and does exactly what the woman has asked.

It feels – not _wrong_ , not exactly, but for the first time since he has become Prime Minister and the Queen’s unofficial private secretary, he feels like he is acting for his own interests. He is not deaf or stupid, he knows that his adversaries and even some of his fellows Whigs believe that he manipulates the Queen to do his bidding, they think he has delusions of ruling the Country through the young woman. They could not be more wrong, but he can accept those malicious words for they are not truly harmful.

Yet, he feels – uneasy doing what he knows will be an advantage for him. The fact that his own interests match the Queen’s doesn’t make him feel better.

“Do you think – it would help?” She asks. She does not need to elaborate. It feels like they are conspiring, and the truth is that they are, and the irony of the fact that they have never even kissed (he can’t. If he kisses her he does not think he can’t let her go. He waits – he thinks he can wait forever) as they are laying the groundwork for their marriage is not lost on him. Or her, for that matter.

“Yes, ma’am. Hypothetically speaking she would not rely on her brother if she had your full support now that Lord Conroy has been sent away.” He replies. She would be forced to take her daughter’s side, she would not help with her brother’s plans to have her married to Prince Albert. She would have no choice.

She looks at him, as understanding sets in her eyes, and sighs. “I love my mama, William. I just cannot forget the past.”

He is startled when she takes his hand in hers. There are casual, affectionate touches between them, and they are more and more frequent even though, to be completely honest,  he feels like they constantly dance in the darkness, without music, and speak in a language only they can understand. It is – an exquisite torture, one he can’t think of ever forsaking.  

He has never been happier in his life.

“But the past – is the past, I suppose,” She says, “it is the future I’m most concerned about.”

He wants to kiss her hand. He wants to kiss her lips, he wants to tell her how much he is in love with her, to the point that he literally cannot breathe sometimes, but he does not such a thing. She is his Queen and he is still her prime minister. The game they play is nearing to an end, he knows, but he is old enough to understand that a lot of things might happen, therefore he does not – disrespect her. He is mindful of her virtue and her heart.  

“So am I, ma’am.” He says eventually, squeezing her small hand in his, “so am I.”

 

* * *

 

 Queen Elizabeth had said that she had the heart of a man, of a warrior. And it had been true.

Queen Victoria is a woman first and foremost, but when time comes, she fights as valiantly as the queen she has so admired since she was a child. She studies and  discreetly consults lawyers and she has no idea that she is going to go down in history as a woman who has fought for her right to happiness. She paves the way for millions of women throughout the world to find their own place in the world, one not dictated by old laws and traditions.

But before that, before she meets with the Privy Council, before those men understand for the first time that she is not a little girl with a crown on her head, but their Queen, she proposes to him.

They dance, not every night as she wishes, but often enough that the chatter and gossip about them spread throughout Europe and reach her uncle.

She clearly and succinctly writes to her uncle that she will not welcome a visit from her cousins and that she will not marry Albert. She loves her uncle, she will always love him, but it’s the queen who writes those letters and she is not to be swayed.

They ride together most days, and they continue the game they started after they once danced in the dark, talking hypothetically about their future.

He dines at the palace most nights and he feels like they are already married.

She could have done things differently, she could have chosen him as her companion and he suggests that, once.

“Hypothetically speaking,” He had said, “A queen does not necessarily need to marry. Not all queens do, ma’am. She might choose to have companions.”

Her reply – not very different from the one she will give to the Privy Council, leaves him speechless.

 He will forever remember how she had calmly looked at him and then at the cards she was holding in her hands and then said, “It would surely make things easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed.” He had replied.

She had smiled and briskly said, “Hypothetically speaking what makes you think that the Queen would want to hide and act like that? Choosing a man as a companion would imply that there is something she regrets about her choice, something wrong with it. And there is not.”

“Is there?” He had asked.

“So you would rather the Queen act like a whore,” She said, blushing as she whispered those words, “than being married and have her love and union blessed by God and approved by men?”

“I would like the Queen to be happy, ma’am.” He had said.

He will forever remember how her eyes filled with tears at his words, even if her discipline won over – for a Queen could not cry in front of her subjects, and she said in a nasal voice, “I think, no… I _know_ she is.”

They are extremely careful, they both  have been reprimanded for their conduct, about the fact that it was now clear to everyone that their feelings were far from platonic. Yet, people would have been surprised had they known that they have never even kissed, they barely touch nowadays.

 

* * *

 

When it happens they are alone. They dine together and she plays the piano, Mozart, his favorite piece, she wears the orchid he  sent her that afternoon and after announcing that she wants to retire, she asks to consult him about the happenings in Afghanistan.

It is a lie, they have discussed the situation at length in the morning, nevertheless, he follows her in the study.

“Close the door,” She says when they enter.

After being chastised for their conduct, they have decided to leave the doors open when they are alone so that everyone can see that there is nothing untoward happening between them. Not that it would make any difference at that point, and they are both aware of that, but unless it is matters of state they make sure the doors stay open.  

“William…” She says. And he closes the door.

She does call him William when they are alone, but that does not happen often, it is too dangerous at that point. And it occurs to him that they behave as lovers even though, technically speaking, they are not – and it feels like a lie in his heart, but he can hardly find a definition to what they are, what they have become to each other. They are queen and prime minister, friends, confidants, she is his world and he is – hesitant to put a name to what the Queen might feel for him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He says.

She is wearing a new dress, it compliments her blue eyes and her complexion, he has noticed that she is not wearing any jewels that night, only the orchid he has given her. It – feels important, for some reason, that she is only wearing a flower, the one he has cultivated for her, to her bosom.  

“I think – I shall speak as a woman, not your Queen.” She says. He sees that she is afraid, now. He has seen her afraid before, she has shown him that side of her personality early in their acquaintance, but this is different: she is young and she has decided to weather any storm that might come their way once (if) she said the words, but the reality of it seems to be fully registering, now.

If she changed her mind, if she decided that, after all, he is not worth fighting for, he would, of course, understand. He would be devastated, he would lose everything, but he would support her anyway. He thinks he should tell her before she even starts because all he cares about, all it matters to him, is her well being.  

“I need you to promise me one thing before I speak, can you do that?” She asks.

He nods. He is not sure he can trust his voice. He is not sure he can trust his heart.

“Will you be completely honest?” She asks, no – she _pleads_ with him.

“Yes, your majesty.” He says. She has not spoken to him as a Queen, but she is – and he is painfully aware of that, at the moment.

She fidgets with her hands. And he wants to tell her yes, to whatever she wants to say. He wants to tell her what everyone knows but neither of them has ever said aloud.

He is still near the door, his fingers curled around the handle, she is by the fireplace. She is – glorious and frail and the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He does not deserve her.

“You have known loss and heartbreak and scandal in your life, I was warned that you were good at stealing hearts and that I had to be careful not to let you steal mine.” She says after a moment of silence.

She takes a step toward him. “The truth is – that they were right.” She says and she shrugs her shoulders.  

He feels something cracking open in his chest at her words and he has to close his eyes, for a moment. Is she – regretting ever meeting him?

“But – they were also very wrong, William.” She says and he has to blink his eyes open when he feels her soft hand on his cheek and he realises that she has moved closer to him, she has been so silent that he had not heard her.  

“For – how can you steal something that was willingly and joyfully offered to you?” She is smiling but her eyes are shining with unshed tears and he sees that she is not doing anything to fight them back. Not that time.

“You once told me that you knew how painful and humiliating a scandal can be. I know that you have had to bear more losses and heartbreak than most –“

She looks down for a moment. She looks overwhelmed and – no one, not even his beloved sisters, has ever shown so much compassion and authentic grief for what had happened to him.

“Therefore,” She says, “I would understand if you chose to reject me. I would understand if you thought you could not bear the scrutiny and the attacks, I truly would.”

And she would. He knows in that moment that she wants his happiness even more than her own.

He knows, in that moment, that she truly loves him. He has feared that it was an infatuation, that she would – tire of it, as many girls do, it is one of the reasons why they have skirted an invisible line for so long, playing a game that would not endanger her, but her words are showing the depth of her feelings for him. She is in love with him and he has been a blind, old fool.  

“But I am hoping,” She reprises, “that my heart could be enough?”

“Ma’am…” He says and he realises that she has not moved her hand away from his cheek,  she is looking at him and the tears are there, she is showing them proudly, she is offering them as tokens of her love.

 “I talked to mama this afternoon, she does not agree with what I am about to ask, but she will support me. I realise it will be hard, it will be strenuous and odious, but – “ she sighs and he sees her cheeks flushing red when she asks, “do you love me enough to weather this storm with me, Lord M?”

He smiles. He will tease her, years later, about how she proposed to him calling him Lord M. She will chuckle and say nothing.

“With everything I am, ma’am…” He says.

He should reject her. He should be a better man and remember his duty, tell her that she might risk her throne, her very life – but he can’t. God forgive him, he can’t.

“Will you be my husband?” She asks and he can only take her hand in his and kiss her knuckles.

“I can only offer you my heart, ma’am – tattered and frayed around the edges, but it is all yours.” He says and his voice comes out hoarse, broken. Even if he feels anything but.

She smiles and William can’t help but do the same. She is the one who timidly starts their first kiss. It is – like fire, it is her hands on his neck, her breath quickening as he teases her lips, seeking entrance and she responds and her inexperience is intoxicating. Scandals had almost killed his soul, loss and heartbreak had made him into a cynic, the young woman in his arms makes him feel a new person, one who can fight any battle if it means she will be with him.

His back is against the door and they are too close even after they break the kiss and she rests her face against his chest. She blushes and steps back, and it is true – he can see the signs on her lips, moist and swollen, on her eyes whose blue has become darker, on her flushed cheeks.

“They will not be easily convinced, ma’am.” He says.

She rolls her eyes, “I do have a name, and since we are to be married you might start to use it.”

He chuckles and she does the same, but she sobers up immediately and says, “I am aware – but we shall win this war. I promise you. ”

 

* * *

 

He resigns, it is so sudden that people do not know what to think. There are people who suspect, of course, there are those who know – most of Victoria’s ladies, her mother, and his private secretary.

His family closes ranks around him, as usual. His brother thinks he has lost his mind, his brother in law thinks it is folly. His sisters are supportive and scared at the same time.

“She is terribly young, William.” His sister says one afternoon, four days after she has proposed, three days after he has resigned and her majesty has called Robert Peel to form a new ministry.

“I am aware.” He says.

She shakes her head. “I fear that she will break your heart when –“ she trails and doesn’t finish her sentence.

“When what -- ?” He asks, “when she realises that she married a boring old man? She is _not_ Caro, Emily!”

His sister sighs. He wants to tell her that Victoria – he is still not used to thinking of her using her Christian name – is not facile. She has given him his heart and he knows, deep in his soul, that it will be forever, without hesitation.

Emily supports him, all his family does. They are used to scandals, they are used to being saddled with malicious gossips. It is nothing new. He is his mother’s son and this is just further proof of it.  

“Are you going to be Prince Consort?” She asks eventually.

“I don’t know. I can’t say I care” He says. And he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Victoria fights. Exactly a month after William Lamb, second viscount of Melbourne resigns, she calls a meeting with the Privy Council. He is there, even though he has resigned and announced his intention to retire from public life, and his heart swells with pride as he sees her walk into the room.

He told her once that she was every inch a Queen – and he meant it, but it is even truer that day. She fills the room with her presence, with the strength of her purpose, with the love he can see in her eyes.

She fights. She does not back down. He will learn later of how carefully she has studied the constitution and the law to find each and every loophole, to debunk every argument it might be held against their marriage.

In a memorable sparring match, when someone doubts her virtue and his honor, she pierces the unfortunate fellow with an icy stare and says, “If the word of your Queen is not enough, my Lord, I would have no problems having a doctor confirm that I am _virgo_ _intacta_. I should hope my word is enough, though.”

   
There is defiance in her voice and William, for the first time in his life, is sorely tempted to punch the man or kill him.

He does not move, though; he watches his Queen, his betrothed fight. He knows everyone is looking at him, he knows what they are thinking and he doesn’t care.

They reach a compromise, eventually – they need to before things slip out of their hands completely and the monarchy and parliament are truly in danger. He is not to be Prince Consort, he shall have no claims to a regency in the event of his wife’s death.

He has to sign an act according to which he is not permitted to influence the Queen in any way in matters of politics. It is utter nonsense, but he gladly signs whatever they put in front of him.

Someone says that things could have been handled differently, they say she should have kept  the status quo, having him as her companion.

“He was my dearest, most trusted friend. He advised me, time and again, against this. I shall not hide and live a double life. He was not my companion. He shall be my husband!”

She wins, in the end. The scandal is everywhere, people do not understand at first and yet she smiles and waves and her smile is genuine as she does so.

 

* * *

 

They have a peculiar wedding. She is the Queen, therefore there is a certain etiquette to follow, but he is not a prince, he is merely a Viscount which makes for interesting times. They see less of each other before the wedding than when he was her prime minister and, according to popular gossip, her lover.

They write long letters to each other and she visits him to Brocket Hall, incognito, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her disguises and impatience. If she is upset by what appears in the papers and what the people say she doesn’t show it; she complains about Lord Chamberlain, she complains about how dull Robert Peel is and how bland her new ladies in waiting are. Yet she beams at him when she tells him that she loves him.

He believes her.

 

* * *

 

She is – breathtaking as she walks down the aisle. She smiles when their eyes meet and there is only them, then. The words, the wedding vows flow out of his mouth and he means every syllable. All the gossip, the scandal, the libelous words said about them and against them, all the documents they have been both forced to sign, all the tedious preparations disappear.

He was deeply in love with Caro, but the words didn’t feel as real as now. He would love, honor, cherish and protect the woman in front of him to his last breath. There would be no other woman, there would be no flirtatious friendships, nothing that would or could ever hope to compete with her. He is, for the first time in his life, truly complete. 

 

* * *

 

    They have kissed, more than once. He has known young ladies whose virtue was but a façade, but Victoria, his beloved bride, is – _pure_. She is inexperienced and she seems lost, almost scared when they are finally alone in their bedroom.

The gold of her wedding ring is quietly sparkling at the candlelight, she is sitting in the front of the mirror and she is unpinning her hair, slowly, but he sees that her fingers are trembling.

“May I be of assistance?” He asks.

She jumps hearing his words. She turns and looks at him saying, “I should be most grateful, William.”

He has had lovers. He has paid for pleasure, not as much and as often as many of his friends, but it happened, and yet he feels the anticipation. They both do, it is clear. Neither of them has completely undressed and they are both fidgeting.

She seems to read his mind, to know what he is thinking because she closes her eyes and says, “This is absolutely ridiculous!”

Their eyes meet as he starts to unpin her hair and massage her scalp, it is – intimate, more than he expected, she tilts her head back and lets out a soft sound. She opens her eyes and seems embarrassed.

“Victoria,” He says and it is the first time he calls her with her Christian name since the wedding. It is different, he realises. She is his wife. She has chosen him, among princes and heirs to thrones all over Europe. She has fought to be in that room, with him, she has made it clear that he is the only person she wants, desires and loves.

She takes his hand when he offers it, her hair is pulled down, it cascades on her shoulders and he trails his fingers in it. They stand there, by the bed and he feels her trembling subsiding, inch by inch.

They move together, fumbling with each other’s clothes, she huffs a laugh  against his chest and he traces the line of her spine, marveling at how warm her skin is. She is – perfect, beyond every fantasy he might have harbored. They fall on the bed and she laughs and he forgets that he is so much older than her. Victoria is looking at him as if she doesn’t believe it is really happening as if she is the lucky one.

She is so spectacularly wrong. And he has a lifetime to show her.

And it starts in that moment: as he kisses her  lips, her dimples, her neck, he smiles against her skin as her breath itches in her throat when his lips close around a nipple, gently sucking on it, before he lavishes the other with the same attention.  She cards her fingers through his hair as his fingers trail down her body. Her skin is soft, smooth and

“William –“ She whispers, over and over. She seeks his lips  when the final piece of clothing disappears, and her hands shake as she helps do the same. They lock gazes. “You are so beautiful –“ He says.

They have played a game, they have said words, they are married – and he has never said aloud how beautiful she really is.

“I love you.” She says and her hands roam through his back when he starts teasing her, a finger slipping through her folds. She looks overwhelmed for a moment, especially when his thumb flickers her core and she clings to him, skin to skin, he can feel how strongly hear heart is beating in her chest and he is sure she can do the same.  She breathes against his neck as he stills his movements. There is a part of him – that wants to bury himself in her, lose himself in her heat, smell, taste and hear their pleasure, but he is surprised realizing that he is as overwhelmed as she looks.

It is really happening, it is not a dream, not an idle fantasy, not something forbidden.

“Victoria,” He says, his voice is coming out hoarse with passion and emotion, “look at me, my love.” and she obliges, wide blue eyes looking at him with implicit trust.

She feels his arousal throbbing against her stomach and she smiles at him and her voice is lower than he is used to when she says, “I love how you say my name…”

He kisses her, again and there is real urgency, now, in their kiss, he resumes his teasing, his caresses and she deepens the kiss, trying not to moan in his lips when he feels her climax approaching. He desperately needs friction and release, and to hear and feel her pleasure is intoxicating. She breathes against his lips and he has to close his eyes when following her instinct she spreads her legs for him.

They lock gazes, while wordlessly moving together, “I shall never hurt you…” he says and he does not refer to the pain she might feel when he is inside of her and she knows, she nods at him and says, “I know. I shall never hurt you, _husband._ ”

He believes her. He keeps his promise. She keeps hers.

 


End file.
